


The Second Time

by ecrutea



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrutea/pseuds/ecrutea
Summary: Reunited at Haru’s wedding after a year of not seeing each other, Ren finally catches up with Makoto, who has been avoiding him all evening for some reason.Or, unbeknownst to their friends, Makoto and Ren end up having a one-night stand.Again.[A one-shot vignette to my other fic,A Matter of Time]
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	The Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Explicit sexual content, smut, definitely NSFW.
> 
> (Although after looking this over, I realize I wrote more plot than porn. I guess less is more? lol.) 
> 
> Another warning is that I wrote this in all fun, for my own amusement, no stakes—to write my way through a creative block. Basically, I did not put this fic through as many rounds of editing as my perfectionist ass usually does. It was a nice practice in being okay with making mistakes and re-directing my energy back to intrinsic motivation. 
> 
> Moving along, this is a one-shot vignette to my other fic [A Matter of Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924301/chapters/60317737), for the readers who want more information on what happened between Makoto and Ren at Haru’s wedding. As writing a story's final chapter entails tying up loose ends, consider this one-shot as sewing in the loose thread of Makoto and Ren's second hookup, lol.
> 
> Enjoy! (Or bon appetit I should say...)

Ren placed his full wine glass (that proved a practical front against both Ryuji and the middle-aged manager he’d befriended who kept filling his glass) on the modern bar countertop. It was a hospitable gesture from his friend, but with the haze of the evening highs now gone, coupled with a dry mouth and discomfort in his stomach, he reasoned he’d had enough for the night. 

He needed water, not more alcohol. A shower and sleeping in a luxury hotel bed didn’t sound bad either.

He checked his watch as he inched towards the lounge exit: it was half-past one in the morning. Scanning the stuffy room one last time, he took note of Ryuji and Ann, who remained focused on their final round of a college drinking game. Sumire stood near Ann’s side, looking on with quiet anticipation amongst the gathered spectators.

Odd, it was only Sumire there. It seemed some of his longtime friends from high school had the same idea to slip out of what was devolving into an after-afterparty. 

Well, his friends who _went_ to the afterparty. Haru was of course, with her now-husband, which only left Makoto, who disappeared after their awkward reunion in front of the bathrooms.

A reunion that his ex-girlfriend and the Best Man conveniently interrupted, but that wasn’t the point. Makoto would most likely be at tomorrow’s brunch, so he could catch up with her then, he figured. 

With no one looking, he slipped his hands into his pockets and made his quiet exit. 

***

As Ren turned the corner after the elevators, complaints from familiar voices echoed down the hall opposite where his room was. 

He peered over his shoulder only to come across a comical sight.

“Stupid Inari. Why is he so freakin’ heavy?” Futaba whined. 

“If only he could walk and bear some of his weight,” Makoto said in a strained voice. “We’re almost there.”

“I can’t, Nee-san! You two go on ahead!” Futaba cried, crouching to the ground. She reached out a hand as if she were injured and couldn’t stand. “But carry me with you!”

Makoto made a _tsk_ sound, hunched but still standing and supporting a passed out Yusuke. “Futaba, you know I’ve been doing all the carrying. Get up.”

Futaba’s head turned and perked up like an attentive squirrel upon spotting Ren. “Reinforcements have arrived! We’re saved!” she said, flailing her arms.

Makoto turned to look at him as he strode towards them; the glaze he’d seen in her eyes the last time he saw her was long gone. There was something else, but she blinked it away. 

“Here, let me help,” he offered, trying to ignore how her waist and hips looked in that bridesmaid dress, a pink so faint it almost looked white. 

Futaba bounced up from the floor and beamed, hands formed into celebratory fists. “If I’ve got you two with me, this is going to be as easy as fighting a trash mob!” 

Together, he and Makoto hoisted Yusuke’s dead weight to the room, taking care to lay him on his side on the bed closest to the bathroom. Their blacked out friend groaned--exhibiting his first sign of life according to Futaba--but then, with no awareness of his friends who simply stared at him, he tucked himself under the covers and fell back asleep, snoring. 

The three shared a _What just happened_ look before Futaba scooted him and Makoto to the door. 

“Yes, I have water, _Mom_. Now make like a cheetah and dash outta here you two. I got this!” she said, fists propped against her sides in a superhero stance, though Ren noticed a snide undertone in her determined grin.

And with that, Futaba shut the door on their faces.

Ren glanced at Makoto, who seemed to have turned away a split second earlier. An awkward beat passed as if she too noticed the heat radiating between their shoulders. 

“Um. That was interesting,” she said.

“My thoughts exactly,” he replied.

She turned around, and he followed, keeping up with her lazy pace down the hall after learning her room was coincidentally on the same floor. Her gaze remained focused ahead, and for a brief moment, he could get away with his sidelong glance.

When he first started seeing more of Makoto around--back when they were enemies, he smirked--the first thing that struck him was her face, as she tried but failed to hide it behind a manga. 

She was one of those girls who had a beautiful face but wasn’t aware of it. But now--he noticed earlier when she carried Haru’s wedding dress train and couldn’t resist giving her a once-over (hell, thrice-over) look like the rest of the audience--she _really_ wasn’t aware of how more attractive of a woman she’d grown into: her elegant visage, the soft lines defining her exposed arms and back, the allure of her shapely...shape. 

Especially from behind. She had a magnificent ass.

Wait, what was he saying? This was Makoto, his _friend_. Yes, he found her attractive, yes they’d slept together once, but she wasn’t interested in him. He was getting delirious, thinking such crazy thoughts. It had to be that, plus dehydration. 

“To be honest, I thought you’d be with the Best Man right now,” he said, his tone light and teasing, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

If Makoto caught the hint of unexpected spite in his voice, she didn’t show it. 

He hated to admit it, but she and Takahashi-san did look good together. Makoto looked like she enjoyed herself on the dance floor with him; she deserved someone good-looking and accomplished like her. Even though he knew it was the alcohol influencing her frivolous behavior, somehow the sight of her giggling and leaning close into another man and seeing this guy’s hands circle her waist made him darken with an ugly sense of protectiveness inside. 

He cursed his mind wandering there, _again_. He was her friend, not her boyfriend. 

“Oh, Takeru?” she said, his shoulders tensing at her casual mention of his first name. “I was, but we decided to call it a night.”

“I see.”

Despite himself, an unexpected, dormant thrill unearthed within him.

In the smug tone he found himself always using with her, his mouth ran off, unfiltered. “You’ve been avoiding me all evening. Admit it.” 

_That was smooth_ , he cursed in his head. 

He really needed to get back to his room and sleep so he could stop making a fool out of himself. 

She stopped in place. “What?”

He looked to the side, running a hand through his now messy hair. He couldn’t stop himself. “Is it because of that...one time?”

 _That one time_ was the first and only time they’d crossed the line of friendship and slept together. He’d climbed down her body, and she’d climbed down his, only for him to come too early and spatter a mess all over the one woman he found himself wanting to impress. 

Out of all things, _this_ was the first thing he wanted to discuss?

He shouldn’t be bringing this up, especially in a hotel hallway. Though they kept their voices at a reasonable volume, what if someone heard them? At least the rest of their friends who were on this floor were still at the afterparty. 

Also, what was the point? She made it clear that she wanted to stay friends and nothing more--her leaving early that night and the distance she kept this whole year proved that. 

But he had to know. 

For his fragile ego’s sake.

“Oh. No, not at all. I wasn’t avoiding you. The wedding coordinator kept pulling me, and I just lost track of time, I guess,” she said. 

It was a white lie--the way she blinked and the slight tuck of her chin gave that away--but he’ll take that over _Yes, I still think you’re an embarrassment and a total letdown in bed_.

To his relief, the tense air around them loosened, as had their conversation. For all her politeness, it was typical of Makoto not to shy away whenever their conversations took a sudden turn into the deep and personal. It was like picking up right where they left off despite months of not seeing each other.

It could also be because she was awkward, being one who didn’t know how to do small talk. Either way, he appreciated how the uncomfortable topics were comfortable with her, and how what were supposed to be short coffee chats turned into two-hour discussions on mapping out their precise location in the cycle of losing faith in humanity and finding it again. 

His delirious mind danced at discovering one of the many ways they were, and have been, compatible. 

But squandered the thought when realizing that she’d rarely delved into her love life. That was a topic she’d get weird about, though he couldn’t blame her; it’s not like he wanted to open that door either. 

She just wasn’t into him. _She never was._

They resumed their easygoing pace, almost at the elevators. 

“So, what’s new?” he asked. 

“I’ve just been working. Nothing interesting,” she drawled.

“I find that hard to believe. What are you now, the Chief Inspector of your station?”

“Actually, I got the position of Inspector a couple of months ago.”

“Wow, congratulations. Well-deserved.”

A dust of pink shaded her cheeks as she lifted a finger to smooth a wayward strand of hair behind her loose but pretty updo. “Thank you. And how about you?”

“I’ve been okay. Just been going through interviews and sending resumes into a black hole.” 

“You’ll get an offer soon. Any office would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

A gurgling noise of a rumbling stomach went on for four seconds, interrupting them. “Oh,” Makoto noted, covering her mouth. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry,” he said with a nervous smile back, all too aware of _his_ empty stomach. “We should get something to eat,” he said. 

“That sounds like a good idea. But nothing’s open right now.”

“It’s called room service.”

She giggled at that, but it was short-lived. “But what about Sumire?”

_Huh?_

“What about Sumire?” he asked.

He thought he felt her shoulders tense beside him. “Aren’t you going to get her?” she said. 

“How come?”

“How come?” Makoto said with a perturbed face. “Well, it’d be weird if it’s just us two.”

“Why would it be weird?”

Makoto opened her mouth to talk but closed her mouth at the last minute, as if she changed her mind.

_Wait. She doesn’t know?_

That explained that weird, forced smile she had when Sumire interrupted them in front of the bathrooms. It was that nervous, almost sad expression he’d long associated with the Makoto he’d grown apart from, not the Makoto who was his right-hand woman that knew him better than anyone else. He’d see it when she’d act over-polite stating she didn’t want to “intrude” on him and his ex, whatever the hell that meant. 

“Makoto, Sumire and I broke up,” he said in a level voice. “For good this time,” he added, painfully aware of how when he first told her about his breakup, he soon after made the mistake of getting back together with his ex. 

Her step froze in place again. She jerked her head up, her widened eyes scanning his. “What?”

He nodded. 

“I mean—I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” he replied, looking away.

To his relief, she didn’t prod any further, as they ended up right in front of her suite.

Which happened to be next to his. 

The next thing he knew, he was behind closed doors, pressed against Niijima Makoto.

***

Makoto told herself she should have called it a night with Ren as she did with Takeru, who’d in a very considerate, gentleman-like gesture removed her from what was obviously an uncomfortable situation for her. He’d offered to talk about it, but she declined his comfort and company, retreating to her room with the overwhelming shame of letting a long-buried, childish crush get to her on her best friend’s wedding day.

She should not have entertained the idea of ordering room service with just her and Ren. Alone. In her hotel room. 

Yet her body thought otherwise.

It had been a while, Makoto reasoned with a shrug. To say work stressed her out was an understatement. To say that her singlehood amidst all the romance in the air didn’t phase her, and that she wasn’t feeling lonely: all lies. She needed a release, _to feel good_ , and she might as well do it with someone she knew, who’d made her feel good before, who happened to be the one person with whom she had her only one-night stand.

Despite pressing him to her out of nowhere--grabbing the lapels of his burgundy suit jacket that fit so right on him--she explored his velvet lips at a delicate pace, tasting liquor and surprise. Like the first night they spent together. 

As if testing the waters, Ren tilted his head down and lightly pressed her lips back. Her mind in a fog, it became less clear whether she made the wrong decision or not. 

But not a second passed when he opened his mouth to envelope hers, threading his fingers through her hair, eager to cross the line of friendship again. She wasn’t drunk, but she might as well have been with the way his familiar fingertips slid through the front slit of her dress to brush over her thigh. Her legs slightly parted upon noticing he was already hard.

Breathless, he pulled back to scan her face with dark, heavy eyes. 

“So we’re really doing this again,” he remarked in a low voice, a warm palm roaming from her waist to her lower back like he was feeling for a zipper.

“It seems so,” she breathed, hovering her lips over his, sliding her fingers over his shoulders to peel off his jacket. 

“I mean, we don’t have to,” she added, tracing a ghost of a kiss onto his jaw while she undid his bow tie. He ran his hands down her arms to straighten them at her side. 

A soft exhale escaped her throat as the hem of her deep-cut illusion neckline slipped from her shoulders and over her breasts, gathering down at her waist. 

A reprieve for her body, how hot she was was with want.

“I think,” he said with closed eyes, bending down to plant slow kisses across her chest, “I very much want to.” 

“Okay. But I—”

A sharp gasp broke out from her as he sucked on a nipple.

“You were saying?” His casual tone seemed incongruent with him looking up at her with that sneaky smile from between her breasts.

“I don’t want our friends to know,” she said, her throat dry.

“That’s a given. They won’t.” 

She nodded, running her fingers through his hair. “I also think—” she began.

He sucked on her other nipple.

“—I also think we should go on the bed,” she recovered, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. With his palms caressing up her body, her dress slipped over her head and fell at her ankles. 

“Good idea,” he rasped when he came up for air. His white shirt landed at their feet.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “What do you want me to do to you?” he asked breathlessly, cupping her breast. His other thumb grazed over her lips.

She tugged at his belt. “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?” 

He kissed her triumphant smile. “I do. But maybe I just want you to teach me all over again,” he purred, sliding her panty down her hips.

He guided her down onto the bed, and her hand was inside his loosened pants and his hand was on her backside before he reached up to cradle her face, locking eyes with her. His focus dragged down to her hand and back up to her face, aglow with want and longing.

The worry that friends don’t do this to each other and that this could ruin their friendship vanished.

***

This wasn’t the first time Ren saw Makoto naked, but it certainly felt like it as his hands and mouth rediscovered the definition in her arms, her abdomen. How strong and soft her thighs felt around him. How plump and muscular her ass was under his grasp. 

How rediscovering her favorite places lit him ablaze with pure desire. 

She’d surprised him last year with how fun she was in bed, her impulsive side beneath the caution unleashed just for him again to relish. She wasn’t afraid to take charge, and he fucking loved that, even if he couldn’t say a complete sentence at the moment, nor process how easily he’d changed from Makoto’s friend to Makoto’s lover like a light switch. 

He hadn’t had sex in two months. Sure, he’d entertained those girls from that dating app, when he’d be drunk like the girls whose faces he didn’t remember—but that was for only one month and then he was over it. These past two months were just dead-end dates, irrelevant and a waste of his time. Building his career from the ground up was more interesting if not a necessity at this point. 

Yet for all the time apart between them, somehow Makoto’s addicting lips and how her mouth closed around him down there had a staying power in his mind. 

It took all the self-control in him to stop her. How desperately he wanted her fingers and mouth to stay tight around him, stroking him in that rhythm but—

He didn’t want to risk it lest things end like the last time she’d gone down on him.

He tilted his head up to steady hers, his fingers running in between the soft tresses of her undone braid. “Wait. Not yet. I want you first.” 

“Okay,” she replied, but not before looking him directly into his eyes, giving him one last stroke of her tongue.

She was going to be the death of him. 

***

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You taste so good, Mako,” he said in a low voice, licking his lips.

Makoto didn’t reply. He probably says that to every girl he sleeps with, she thought; but she didn’t care in that moment of headiness to her surprise. He most likely was sleeping with other women—probably letting loose since he hasn’t been single for a decade—but right now, he chose to be with her. All she could process was how she wanted his tongue to keep tasting her at that wickedly perfect pace again. 

“Ren,” she softly exhaled, the sheets bunched in her fists as he began. 

"Ren," she whispered again in between quickened breaths. Each small lick of his tongue released involuntary gasps and hip thrusts from her like a reflex.

He didn't respond, only squeezing her breasts, his head moving at a steady rhythm.

Her legs tensed and spread further and further at his work, slipping off his shoulders. She was close, almost filled to the brim. Words spilled out of her like an overflowing cup: 

"Yes. There.” 

“Ren,” she tried again, grabbing onto his hands still cupped over her nipples. 

“ _Please_ ,” she cried out one last time before arching back to release a series of embarrassing moans. He pressed her there with tender kisses as she writhed in his face, waves of pure pleasure engulfing her from her head down to the last nerves of her toes.

***

Makoto had a curious look as she watched him retrieve a condom from the sleeve of his wallet. 

“Were you planning on sleeping with someone tonight? Is that why you have one?” she said, taking the condom from his fingers and rolling it down on him. 

He leaned back on his palms, releasing a small groan at the sensation of her touch on him and the way her boobs were just out in the open for him to admire. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. And I wasn’t planning on sleeping with anyone at all. Certainly not with you,” he gulped at her stroking. 

She eased her grip on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Whatever daze she was under snapped in her eyes. 

“You misunderstand.” He sat up, suddenly nervous despite his calm words. He reached up to cup her pretty face. “I wasn’t planning on staying up this late. But I’m glad the Maid of Honor made me,” he said, tracing a thumb along the line of her cheekbone. He thought he felt her lean against his hand.

“So this is my fault?” she asked in a light tone.

“Yeah. It’s your fault for being so fucking hot.” He meant for it to sound like a tease, but it came out more husky instead. It was a miracle he could carry a conversation at this point.

Before he could gauge if she still misunderstood somehow, she leaned in and enfolded his lips with hers. 

Then she lifted herself over him and sat, taking him in. They let out a shuddering breath in unison as a rush of euphoria flooded his senses at how perfectly her muscles enveloped him in a tight hug, like it was made for him. 

_Holy shit_. It was unbelievable how she felt inside; she was just as amazing as he’d chalked her up to be in his mind.

Satisfying her was hot as hell.

Under her, he was a different person; the smugness melted away into jelly. Coherent thoughts were a crapshoot at this point; all he could register was how fucking good she felt inside and how the front and center view of her head tossed back with her mouth open and her boobs bouncing in his face and her hips moving pushed him further and further to the edge. 

She clasped her hands over his grip on her breasts and locked eyes with him in a way that made him just want to come already, throwing out his plan to savor this. The headboard rocked against the wall as he hastened his pace, desperate to make her come again so she can put him out of the sweet misery of holding himself back. She caught onto his rhythm, her center squeezing him, torturing him. 

Her fingers bunching in his hair and her nails digging into his shoulder only added more fire to his agony. The way she pressed her cheek against his and gasped into his ear told him she was close, but he didn’t know how long he could resist. “Mako. Please—”

“Ren I—” she interrupted, before releasing a series of sharp exhales, clutching onto him for dear life as she rolled her hips in slow, thrusting motions. He caught her moans in his mouth, drinking in her pleasure, before he too lost control at the way she moved on him, gripping her hips like his life depended on it. He groaned onto her collarbone, shuddering, the salt of her sweat on his tongue. 

She collapsed down with him onto the padded headboard, her breath hot in the crook of his neck. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. 

***

Ren wasn’t sure if they’d fallen asleep or not; the dim lamp was still on and the lightly perfumed sheets surrounded them with softness and safety. His arms cradled her close as she snuggled against him, her gentle hand resting on his chest. He turned to press a kiss at the top of her head; her nose and smile felt so good against his throat. 

Hell, her entire body on his felt incredible.

“So I think this is the time we tell each other secrets,” he teased.

She let out a tiny snort. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Humor me.” 

A beat later, he felt a pout on her lips. “Fine. I don’t miss school.”

“Knowing you, that is quite the secret.”

The cover shuffled as she curled her head down under his chin. “Okay, you’re next,” she said, a little too fast.

“Hey. I was just teasing you. You’re not the only one who doesn’t miss school,” he said, hoping she found him rubbing her shoulder reassuring.

She didn’t reply, only giving a small nod.

He sighed, unsure of how to phrase what he’d never said out loud to anyone. “I regret growing apart from everyone. I miss the days when we were all close. Now it seems we’re that group of friends who only see each other at weddings and funerals. Birthdays and graduations if we’re lucky.” 

Her chin lifted from his chest as she looked at him with curious eyes. “It’s normal. We all went our separate ways after that year. It’s no one’s fault, really.”

“I know. It’s just—adulting sucks.”

She settled back onto him, the rumble of her laugh tickling his skin. “It does. We’re all so busy. Things are different now.” 

A reflective silence befell them as their toes grazed and mingled with one another, and he wondered if she too looked back on their friendship with a sense of wistfulness.

In a lazy motion, she drew his hand from the small of her back and wrapped her smooth fingers around it. For a moment, they lay there, lost in the sight of their joined hands floating over his chest like a dream, taking turns tracing the lines on each other’s palms. Neither of them spoke as if that would somehow speed up time and end this illusion. 

Even if this was a fleeting moment, even if he knew this would eventually end and that this was all pretend--that this was just sex--he wanted to indulge in the fantasy that he and Makoto were something more than friends.   
  
As if what they just did to each other were not casual acts of intimacy but of serious, real love. 

He intertwined their fingers, giving her a gentle squeeze.

She squeezed back.

“I’m questioning my career path,” she spoke into the quiet. 

“Explain.”

“I’m tired of how this society glorifies exhaustion. I like my job, but I also hate it. No matter how hard I work, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Unfair decisions and an unequal distribution of work always seem to win.” She let out a tiny chuckle. “You probably think I’m becoming a grumbling salaryman.”

“I don’t think that at all. I see you as an intelligent, capable leader who genuinely cares about people. The work you do is enough. It takes authentic people like you to enact change.”

Her palm went limp in his hold.

“But at the same time, you work too much. You’re not a robot.” She bit back a giggle at that. “You're a person. You need rest and play. When was the last time you had some play?” 

She withdrew her hand, raising her head with scrunched eyebrows. “Are you trying to make fun of me?”

Ren blinked back. “I didn’t mean it that way. Or, not just _that_ type of play. I’m just curious. We are sharing secrets, aren’t we?”

She laid her head back down, her shoulder stiff under his fingertips. “Isn’t it obvious?” she mumbled. “It’s...been a while.” 

“That’s okay,” he said, reaching for her retreated hand tucked in between her chest and his side. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about that.” 

They stayed quiet for a beat. He expected she’d ask the same of him, but she didn’t to his relief. 

In a careful motion, he released her and turned on his side to face her. She was so oblivious to how beautiful she was. A faint blush tinted her cheeks as she looked away, hugging a sheet to her chest.

“But it hasn’t been ‘a while’ though,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The last time was this past hour or so,” he said, tapping her nose with his index finger. 

He leaned in closer and spoke over her lips. “And right now.” 

Words fell and they spoke instead through touches and kisses, and when he climbed on top of her and beheld her perfect curves with her legs open just for him it hit him that agreeing to be just friends with her a year ago was a mistake.

***

Makoto felt Ren’s eyes on her, probably wondering why she was sitting at the edge of the bed tense and wrapping the four-hundred thread count sheet around her like a bath towel. A very long bath towel.

“I have to be there early. I’m the Maid of Honor. Plus, I’m starving,” she spoke. 

The mattress sunk as he made his way to her from behind. His tender embrace and the warm press of his firm chest on her back tempted her to climb back into bed with him.

With her friend, who happened to give her five orgasms last night. Plus one in the morning.

“But you already had breakfast.”

Makoto came face-to-face with him over her shoulder, giving him a questioning look. 

The light in his eyes danced in delight as he shot a self-satisfied grin at her. 

She turned away, face hot. “You’re ridiculous.”

He let out a tender chuckle, planting a kiss on her shoulder. She almost leaned back into his arms, but she wanted to keep her word she’d be at the brunch on time.

“Hey, Ren? Can you...not look?” she squeaked, the sheet taut under her clenched hands. 

He loosened his hold on her. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” she nodded, facing him. 

Confusion swept his features. “We just gave each other orgasms—not to mention spent the entire night fucking—and I can’t watch you head to the shower?”

She looked to the side, curling away. “It’s the morning after now. Things are different,” she said in a small voice. _Yes, your sudden shyness totally makes sense,_ she inwardly facepalmed.

He tensed a moment before letting her go. “That doesn’t make any sense to me, but okay, I won’t look,” he shrugged, turning around. 

She scampered to the bathroom and shut the door, viewing her pitiful self in the mirror: the navy printed midi dress she’d picked for that morning, her undergarments held haphazardly over her privates. Her fake lashes were still going strong, but the rest of her face makeup melted away. Her hair was a tangled mess like her. 

Makoto didn’t know what to do with what she just did. _Who_ she just did, she thought, wincing at her reflection. She didn’t even ask if he was seeing someone and instead rushed in, assuming he wasn’t. 

The facts hung on her like a weight.

But Ren wanted to have sex with her. 

He didn’t let go of her all night, nor this morning for that matter. The way his mouth traced up and down her body, the way he touched her as if trying to memorize her--that didn’t feel like casual sex. It felt like making love, as if they were in a committed relationship.

 _No_ , she told herself. Relationship? Commitment? She was falling too fast again. 

It was just fucking, like he said. _Not_ love. Her body just thought it was love since it recently came out of a year-long dry spell.

She couldn’t believe she just had a one-night stand with Ren _again_. 

_One-night stands only work with people you have no connection with,_ Eiko coached. _Otherwise, you get attached._

Sleeping with him (again) just dredged up old, foolish feelings for him, feelings that were futile to entertain. 

She breathed in the steam and the clean fragrance of some luxury brand body wash, hot water raining down on her. She shut her eyes and shook her head as if that would whisk away the memory of him drowning out her moans with his delicious mouth while the full-body shudder he’d bring out of her took over.

***

Trying to remain calm about having just slept with Niijima Makoto, _his friend_ , was a lot harder than he thought.

“What if someone catches you?” she’d asked, brushing some powder on her face in light, hasty strokes.

“You do know who you’re talking to, don’t you?” 

She dropped the brush into a small bag, rummaging for something else. “For some reason, I don’t want to know what your alibi is.”

He smirked behind her in the mirror. “Are you sure? It’s pretty great.”

“I’ll see you downstairs,” she'd said after smacking her freshly painted lips, but not without stopping at the door to give him a tiny, bashful smile. 

The truth was, Ren didn’t have an alibi. He’ll come up with something at the moment like he always does. Because right now, all he could think about was how that dress hugged her hips and how it made him want her to climb on top of him all over again. 

He didn’t peek until she dressed herself as promised, even if her unexpected request didn’t add up with how she’d been intimate and literally bared herself to him. 

But in a way, she was right. Last night they’d indulged in each other, as if they were a couple, but now--now they were back to being just friends again who happened to share a passionate night. 

Last night was indescribable; intense at the beginning, slow and tender the next, then quick and dirty given her time constraints.

He wondered if she had the same intrusive thoughts when she didn’t meet his eyes at all since he arrived at their table. As if nothing happened, as if her velvet lips didn't travel down his body a mere two hours ago.

A throb down there interrupted his attention to Ryuji lamenting how he could’ve won the tournament, as the noises she’d made and the way her head dropped back exhaling _yes_ and his name played over and over in his mind.

He shook his head, gulping down a glass of water.

“Yes, what’d you end up doing, Mako-chan?” he heard Haru ask.

“I—” Makoto began.

“Or more like, _who’d_ you end up doing?” Ryuji nudged Makoto, only for Ann to reach across the table and smack him behind his head. He caught the Best Man sitting at the end of the table looking away.

_Nobody knew._

Makoto reddened, and he tried to think of some way to save her without giving them away, to not think about how she’d looked like that when she dug her fingers into his hair and gasped that she was close. For the third time that night. 

Thankfully Futaba swept in for the rescue (that he attributed to good karma), and Makoto finally looked at him. It was a cute, nervous smile that unbalanced him.

It wasn’t clear before, but now he understood.

Why he seemed to let his guard down only with her. Why their lovemaking felt so right.

Why he regretted that he’d grown apart from her the most. 

The signs were all there.

He was foolishly, and undoubtedly, in love with Niijima Makoto.

His friend.


End file.
